


Intertwined

by WriterSine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Anal Sex, Because Fenris was a slave, Begins a few weeks before the events of "Lady Montilyet", Blow Jobs, Brothel AU, Burlesque, Canon-Typical Violence, Cassandra Pentaghast/Josephine Montilyet is still canon in this fic, Danarius will probably be in it eventually, Fenris is a sexual assault survivor, From the "Lady Montilyet" AU, Frottage, Hand Jobs, I'll change the tags when that happens, M/M, Michelle was nice enough to let me play around in her AU, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Slavery, Public Sex, Rimming, Sooo smutty, Strangers to Lovers, Warning! Will be dealing with Fenris's past traumas, Zevris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterSine/pseuds/WriterSine
Summary: Everyone comes to the Fleur de Vin, Val Royeaux's most famous burlesque, looking for something. Most leave with their wants satisfied. However, if you're very lucky, you'll get not what you want, but what you need.Fenris intended to keep his head down at the Fleur de Vin and make some easy money. Zevran wanted a place to hide. What they found was each other.This is a brothel/burlesque AU so there's lots of sex and mentions of sex work inside.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the wonderful "Lady Montilyet" brothel AU that Michelle Magly cooked up. These fics will intersect a bit, so if you haven't read it yet I would suggest checking out "Lady Montilyet or Good Times at the Fleur de Vin". However, these relationships will develop mostly independent from one another. You could probably read the fics as standalone stories if you want.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was only a kiss  
> It was only a kiss"
> 
> -"Mr.Brightside"

“You keep saying that,” Fenris said, the night everything changed.

He sat on a chair in the empty mess hall off the kitchen of the _Fleur de Vin_ wearing only his hose. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning and he had just returned from escorting Lady Montilyet back from a late supper with one of her admirers. The fire was low but putting off plenty of heat. Outside it was still raining. His tunic, leather pauldrons, and chestplate hung over another chair to dry. Fenris planned to have a quick bite before he went upstairs to his small room and passed out.

Then _he_ had come down.

“Saying what?” Zevran asked, leaning his hip against the edge of the closest table, his arms crossed. He looked like he had just finished working. All he wore were a pair of loose-fitting breeches, tied low around his hips with a sash and a short wrap jacket that hung open, exposing his naked chest and abdomen. On his feet were a pair of worn leather slippers that looked as if they were falling apart at the seams; shoes he would never wear if he had a client waiting. His blond hair was unbraided and hung in damp strands around his shoulders. Fenris smelled the faint scent of sandalwood.

“You keep making comments about my muscles, these tattoos,” he replied, gesturing curtly at his torso. “I know you all like to tease us staff, but I’ve been here for two months now. The others have stopped trying to get a reaction. “You’re never going to act on all those suggestions you keep making, why do you persist?”

A few days after arriving in Val Royeaux, Fenris heard the proprietor of the _Fleur de Vin_ was hiring security. Needing the money and hoping it was the kind of place where they wouldn’t ask too many questions, he had applied. His skill with Lethendralis, his greatsword, and his “paint-peeling glare” had secured his employment. After that he endured two full weeks of the whores’s teasing and innuendos. Most of it was easy enough to take. They flirted with everyone, the clients, the other staff, the owner, one another. It was easy to seem unaffected by their antics and, once they realized he wasn’t a good source of amusement, most of them had stopped.

Zevran laughed and shook his head. “My dear Fenris, if you’ve learned anything in the last two months it’s that Josephine is the star, Isabela is the easiest, and I am the most generous. I like fine things and exciting things. You are both. I would not compliment you if I did not admire you.” His gaze slid down Fenris’s half-naked body, then back up to his face and lingered there. Fenris wanted to look away but found he couldn’t. A slow blush warmed his face. Zevran smiled.

“I can’t pay you,” Fenris said. Even if Zevran offered him a hefty discount, Fenris wouldn’t be able to afford his time. The owner, Varric Tethras, was generous, more than Fenris expected, but all he had earned so far wouldn’t be enough.

Zevran tipped his head to the side and shrugged a little. “I’ve seen how hard you work. I don’t mind showing you a little appreciation as long as you don’t think you’re entitled to more than a good time.” His tone was still light but also unusually crisp, as if hidden under Zevran’s airy demeanor was a resolve made of much sterner stuff.

Fenris watched him a moment. The words “good time” snagging in his mind. The last time he could remember enjoying himself was with the Fog Warriors before he slaughtered them. It seemed like such a long time ago. One bright point in his life that had become more tarnished than not. He stood.

“Is that a ‘yes’, then?” Zevran asked, uncrossing his arms.

Fenris nodded. “Yes.”

Zevran chuckled a warm, rich laugh that was both incredibly jovial and darkly mischievous at the same time. A thrill twisted through Fenris’s stomach. Zevran held out a hand adorned with dark, temporary tattoos that he and some of the other whores painted onto their bodies. Fenris watched his own hand, striped with five vertical silvery bands that snaked up his arm, reach out and grasp Zevran’s. His hand was warm and soft against Fenris’s callused palm.

“We’ll go to my room,” Zevran said and turned to leave the mess.

“Wait,” Fenris said, and Zevran stopped immediately. When he glanced back Fenris added, “My gear.”

Zevran sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Very well, bring it if you must.” He let go of Fenris’s hand. Fenris gathered his wet things, tucking Lethendralis under his arm.

When he turned back, Zevran tsked and held out his hand. “Give me your armor.”

Fenris raised a brow but held out the chestplate. Zevran tucked it under one arm. It brushed the open jacket away from his chest, exposing his nipple. Goosebumps rose on Zevran’s bare skin from contact with the cold metal and Fenris felt the urge to kiss the spot. His runaway thought was interrupted by Zevran thrusting out his hand again. Fenris took it and Zevran led him through the darkened room and upstairs.

Zevran’s room, like those of the other whores, was decorated with hangings in rich fabrics, beautiful paintings, and opulent furnishings. Fenris barely glimpsed any of it, however. As soon as the door closed, Zevran tossed his chestplate onto a plush jet divan, tugged the sword, tunic, and gauntlets from Fenris’s arms, and deposited them on top. Then he cupped Fenris’s face between his hands and kissed him.

Fenris’s awareness focused onto Zevran’s mouth against his. Zevran teased him with his tongue and teeth. He gasped and Zevran’s tongue entered his mouth. All Fenris could think to do was flick his tongue against Zevran’s. For a brief moment Fenris worried that his own mouth was too wet. Then Zevran shifted, deepening the kiss. Fenris slid his hands under the open satin jacket and over Zevran’s waist, pulling him closer until they stood chest to chest. Zevran uttered a throaty chuckle, and slid one hand to the back of Fenris’s neck. Fenris closed his eyes. Sandalwood perfume wafted into his nose.

After a brief eternity, Zevran stopped kissing him but did not pull away. Fenris opened his eyes to see Zevran wearing a smug, lascivious grin.

“I've wanted to kiss that scowl off your face since you started working here,” he murmured, brushing his left thumb over Fenris’s throbbing lower lip.

Feeling bold, Fenris gently nipped the pad of Zevran’s thumb. Zevran’s eyes widened a little, then went half-lidded, his expression turning sultry. He kissed Fenris again with more force. His hand slid up onto the back of Fenris’s head. His fingers gripped Fenris’s hair but didn’t pull.

 _I want this. I want to be happy tonight_ , Fenris thought. His heart beat double time and he could feel arousal swirling through his body. He groaned.

Zevran was backing up, still kissing him. Fenris followed, not wanting to break contact.

They stopped abruptly as Zevran reached the bed. He broke the kiss and shucked off his jacket, before tossing it aside. “Let’s get you out of those damp things,” he said reaching for the laces of Fenris’s hose. They were untied in a tryce, the fitted fabric hanging off of Fenris’s hips. He slid his hose down while Zevran unknotted the sash with a deft tug and the loose, satin pants fell to the floor. Zevran was not wearing underwear.

“Do you prefer to give or take?” Zevran asked as Fenris dragged his gaze up from Zevran’s half-hard cock.

“I’d rather be on top,” Fenris said, his voice hoarse.

“I thought you might.” Zevran chuckled and climbed onto the bed, his rounded buttocks swaying a little with the motion. He flopped down on his back, lounging against the pillows. He let his legs splay, his cock resting against his thigh. His blond hair and golden brown skin almost seemed to glow compared to the black satin sheets. “Drop your smallclothes and come join me.”

Fenris did and crawled onto the bed, very aware of his growing erection. He knelt between Zevran’s open legs.

Zevran leaned forward. “Looks like you’re nearly there,” he murmured. Before Fenris could ask what he meant, Zevran reached forward and stroked the head of Fenris’s cock. His touch was light, focusing attention on the head, drawing his fingers over it in a stroking motion. His other hand cupped Fenris’s sac.

Fenris grunted. He threw back his head, panting as Zevran wrapped his whole hand around Fenris’s cock. He slid his hand up and down from base to head. Fenris raised his hands, intending to grasp Zevran’s shoulders then froze, letting them drop down to the mattress. Belatedly he remembered Zevran had not forbidden Fenris from touching him.

“I- I want-” he panted.

“Tell me, Fenris,” Zevran said, swirling his thumb over the head of Fenris’s cock. His other hand trailed up Fenris’s chest to rub his nipples.

“I want to hold you,” Fenris said.

“Hold me, lindo.”

Fenris laid his hands on Zevran’s shoulders, brushing his hair back. One hand sliding up the back of Zevran’s neck and into his hair. He leaned into Zevran, turning his face into the hollow of Zevran’s throat. Fenris kissed the side of his neck, the spot where his pulse beat, the underside of his jaw, the lobe of his ear. There was an earring there, a hoop with a gem hanging from it. Fenris didn’t care. He trailed his lips up the shell of Zevran’s pointed ear.

Zevran groaned. His hand on Fenris’s chest stilled, though his hand on Fenris’s cock did not. “Do that again,” he said.

Fenris complied, kissing his lobe, tugging on it gently. He trailed the tip of his tongue along the edge of Zevran’s ear.

Zevran stopped stroking him. “You’re ready,” he whispered and pulled gently away. He twisted away and opened a drawer in the bedside table. Fenris glimpsed the hilt of what looked like a dagger, before Zevran closed it. He turned back to Fenris, holding what looked like a narrow, beige sleeve and a small jar. He set down the jar and held up the condom. “Do you know how to put one of these on?”

“No.”

“No matter,” Zevran said. He bent forward and slipped the condom onto Fenris’s cock, securing it at the base with the attached strings. The knot was firm but not tight. Zevran sat back and offered him the small jar. “I’ll let you finish preparing yourself, yes?”

“What about you? Are you prepared?” Fenris said, opening the jar. He dipped his finger into the oil inside and began spreading it over his cock.

“Oh, yes, I’m ready when you are,” Zevran said, and lay back on the bed, his legs open. His brown eyes on Fenris’s hand.

Fenris finished applying the lubrication and set the jar aside. He crawled between Zevran’s legs, pushing them open a little wider. Fenris hoisted one leg up over his shoulder. His right hand, which was still a little oily, moving to Zevran’s anus. Fenris slid his thumb around the rim of Zevran’s hole, pressing in slowly, his gaze on Zevran’s face.

Zevran breathed evenly, his body still. Fenris guided the head of his cock to Zevran’s anus, pressing against it gently. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Zevran breathed.

Fenris slid the head of his cock inside. Zevran exhaled, the muscles of his abdomen shifting, then relaxing. Fenris paused. When Zevran said nothing, he slid in further. Soon he was fully inserted.

Zevran groaned and threw back his head. His hips shifted and Fenris gasped at the sensation. Slowly, he slid part way out, then thrust back in.

“Faster,” Zevran grunted.

Fenris quickened his pace. Zevran shifted his hips, lifting them as Fenris thrust into him. After a few more thrusts, Fenris picked up Zevran’s other leg so he could get a better grip on his hips.

“Yes...there,” Zevran panted. He moaned and reached back, gripping the carved wooden headboard with one hand. The other went to his cock, stroking himself as Fenris pounded into him.

“Ah!” Zevran moaned and threw his head back. His grip on the headboard tightened. Fenris gasped as Zevran’s muscles flexed around his cock. Zevran's other hand stilled. He came.

Fenris closed his eyes. Sweat beaded on his forehead. All he could hear was the sound of skin against skin, Zevran’s soft gasps, and his own half-strangled moans. Arousal reverberated through him with each stroke, like a wave striking a cliff. He thrust harder, holding his hips against Zevran’s for a second each time.

“Come for me,” Zevran said.

A cold shudder crawled down Fenris’s back. His shoulders bunched up, his rhythm faltering. Zevran’s left leg started sliding and Fenris tightened his grip on the other man’s thigh. He opened his eyes.

Zevran watched him, eyes half-lidded. Cum pooled on his belly. His blond hair splayed over the black pillow. He reached up and stoked the taut muscle of Fenris’s right forearm.

I _wanted this. I want to_ , Fenris thought. He let Zevran’s left leg fall to the bed and leaned forward, holding Zevran’s right in the crook of his arm. Fenris braced his right hand beside Zevran’s shoulder. Zevran’s hand slid up his arm. Fenris drove into him again and the rising tension snapped. Fenris cried out. He managed a few more short thrusts. Then just held himself inside Zevran, his torso bowed over Zevran’s, as climax crashed through him.

Zevran tugged Fenris down and kissed him; his lips, his chin, his jaw. At last the final waves of sensation calmed. Fenris slid out of Zevran, feeling as if he had just run all day and fought every slave hunter he had ever met at once. He tried to go slow, but Zevran hissed slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Fenris said, as he lay down beside him. He couldn’t remember the last time he lay on something this soft.

“Think nothing of it,” Zevran said with a laugh. “What we just experienced was worth a little discomfort, no?”

Fenris made a soft noise of assent.

A brief silence followed, then Zevran said, “Well, this mess certainly won’t clean itself.”

He propped himself up one elbow and opened the bedside drawer again. Fenris watched as he wiped down his chest and abdomen with a small towel. Then he turned to Fenris and untied the knot holding the condom in place. Carefully, he slipped the condom off of Fenris’s softening penis. “Would you like to clean up a bit?” he asked, offering Fenris the towel.

Fenris took it. Zevran left the bed, holding the used condom pinched closed between his thumb and forefinger. His steps were light on the plush, carpeted floor.

 _How does he move so quietly?_ he wondered as Zevran disappeared from sight. Fenris glanced down at himself. To be honest, he could use a bath. He yawned softly. Fenris gave his groin a half-hearted wipe with the cloth and set it aside.

His eyelids fluttered closed. He did not remember Zevran ever returning to the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My thoughts, I confess,  
> Verge on dirty"
> 
> -"Come on Eileen"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut this chapter. And burlesque. Life's a cabaret, after all.

Someone touched him and Fenris woke at once. He grasped the other person’s wrist, twisting it to the side. The scent of  sandalwood met his nose. He recognized the bed with black satin sheets.

Fenris released Zevran’s wrist. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I hurt you?” He sat up.

Zevran sat on the bed beside him. He was dressed in another pair of loose satin breeches, these green; and a short, black woolen robe. His hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail and braided. He held his wrist, flexing it gently. “I will be fine, I think. If nothing else, I’m sure Anders will kiss it better for me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Fenris said, not meeting Zevran’s eye. 

Zevran grinned. “Now, I know I must be creative when I wake you next time.”

He raised a brow. “Next time?” 

“This was a unique and pleasurable experience,” Zevran said. “I would happily recreate it with you again. If you are amenable as well.”

Fenris cleared his throat. He glanced around the room. The shutters on his right were open, sunlight lancing over the floor. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Just past ten o’clock.”

“Fasta Vas!” Fenris threw the covers off and climbed out of the bed. His body felt loose and a little achy but he ignored it. The steps of his morning routine raced through his head. However, on the black divan where his gear should have been was nothing. He rounded on Zevran. 

“I gave your things to Orana to be cleaned. She said she would put them in your room.”

Fenris unclenched his jaw enough to speak. “I don’t know what you expected me to wear, then.” 

Zevran laughed. “My friend, as much as I would enjoy seeing you walk around in naught but your skin, I know not everyone has my tastes.” He picked up some folded clothes on a chest at the end of the bed. “These are old things, you may return them whenever you like."

They were a pair of soft woolen breeches and a worn linen shirt. Fenris donned both. The shirt had a long vertical tear on the left sleeve, over his bicep, that had been repaired with small, even stitches. They smelled faintly of wood, soap, and sandalwood. “Thank you,” he said when he was dressed. 

“It is no trouble,” Zevran replied. 

Fenris turned to go, then hesitated. “Creative methods won’t be necessary. To wake me up. I just didn’t realize where I was this morning.” He met Zevran’s gaze. “This was...fun. I’m amenable.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Zevran said. He grinned, rubbing his hands together. Fenris huffed softly in amusement.

~*~

Zevran started applying a second coat of red nail varnish to Isabela’s right middle finger. “Our new bodyguard was telling the truth, those tattoos really do go everywhere.”

“What!” Isabela cried, her eyes going wide with delight. “You slept with him?”

Down on the floor where he was painting Zevran’s toes, Anders looked up. “Even his cock?”

The three of them sat in the dressing room. It was late morning, time to prepare for another day of work at the  _ Fleur De Vin _ .

Zevran chuckled and moved on to Isabela’s ring finger. “Well, not quite everywhere, then. But everywhere else.”

Isabela looked down at Anders. “Ha, you and Leliana owe me fifty silver.“ Turning her dark eyes on Zevran, she ordered, “Spill.”

“Last night, after forcing an orgasm for Messere Back Mole, I heard Josephine was back and went downstairs to see if Fenris was still up.” Zevran shrugged and dipped the brush back into the vial. “He dared me to make good on all those offers I've been making, so I did.” He grinned and swiped some varnish over Isabela’s pinky.

“That man is wound tighter than a new clock. I’m surprised he unspooled enough to get it up,” Anders grumbled, setting down Zevran’s right foot and picking up his left.

“Jealous?” Isabela asked, smirking.

Anders shook his head as if he were dislodging an irksome fly. “Not at all. How was he?”

Zevran closed the vial. “I would’ve sworn he was a virgin, if not for the fact that he knew what he was doing. And the feel of him…” He voiced a low chuckle. Memories of Fenris pressing him into the bed, his voice husky with desire, and the surge of his muscled body as they fucked. Zevran felt himself getting hard.

“Save it for the customers, kitten,” Isabela said, eyeing his crotch. She was grinning.

“That’s not what you told me last night,” Anders said cheerfully.

“I’d rather save it for Fenris, but alas, there is much to be done,” Zevran said, leaning back in his chair.

“That good, huh?” Isabela asked.

“It was ‘fun’, to borrow his turn of phrase. Yes, I would like to fuck him again.” Zevran inspected the tattoos painted on his palms, the backs of his hands, and forearms. They would need retouching soon, the dark ink was fading. He thought of holding Fenris’s hand last night, his pale tattoos shimmering in the firelight of the mess hall. Fenris’s hand this morning, viper fast, gripping his wrist. 

Anders set Zevran’s other foot on the ground and sealed the vial of nail varnish. He shuffled closer on his knees and set the bottle on the table between Zevran and Isabela. “Looks like you’d like to fuck right now,” he said, leaning his elbow on the arm of Zevran’s chair. 

“Tsk, my dear Anders, don’t you know we must save it for the customers?” Zevran said. He shot Isabela a mock exasperated look and shook his head. She giggled.

~*~

“Wicked mage!” Leliana cried, her voice ringing through the packed showroom. “Know you not that magic is to service mankind?”

The audience roared with laughter. Several voiced long whistles. From his vantage point in the wings, Zevran could see a surge down near stage right as a young man in a gaudy doublet pushed forward so that his face was framed by the stage lights. The young man stared open-mouthed up at Leliana in her Chantry robe costume as she crossed her arms, looking stern. 

“You must be punished,” Leliana said.

Anders, in naught but a turquoise kilt decorated with black trim and gray feathers and soft black half boots, recoiled. He looked out at the audience. “Sweet Andraste!” he cried. He threw out a hand at Leliana. A flash of smoke erupted in front of her, obscuring her from the audience’s view.

“No!” cried the young man in the front. Zevran glanced at him again. He had been working at the  _ Fleur de Vin _ long enough to know when someone would wind up a nuisance. Another figure moved through the crowd, parting it like a fish darting through water. Zevran glimpsed white hair.

Onstage, the smoke cleared to reveal Leliana, no longer wearing her vestments. Instead she was clad in a set of ridiculous leather armor. The pleats of the kilt fell to mid-thigh, just long enough to cover her crotch and the curve of her ass. The leather of the jerkin was shaped to cup each breast, pushing it up slightly while exposing most of her chest. There were no arm guards or grieves.

The drunk young man in front cheered.

Leliana drew her prop sword and strode forward. “Shall I make you bow before the might of the Maker?” she asked and swatted Anders on the ass with the flat of the blade.

The audience laughed again as Anders gave an exaggerated jump. 

“Off with you!” Leliana said.

“You mean this?” Anders said, and stripped off the kilt. All he wore underneath was a padded leather harness that lifted his buttcheeks and wrapped around the base of his cock. The audience laughed again and clapped. Many catcalled.

“Your sin is great indeed but I believe you may make amends,” Leliana said. She swatted his butt again. “Off with you, while I consider your penance.”

“Oh, Maker have mercy!” Anders exclaimed, then hurried off the stage to cheers and applause from the audience. Backstage he grinned at Zevran before stepping onto stage again. A spotlight illuminating him as he bowed for the raucous crowd. On the darkened part of the stage, stagehands cleaned up the discarded kilt and props from Anders’s magic act. 

The spotlight panned away toward Leliana who strode to center stage. Anders returned backstage. He clapped Zevran on the shoulder before leaving to dress and drink some water.

On stage Leliana waited until the crowd quieted, standing with her hands clasped before her. The spotlight narrowed, illuminating her pale face and shoulders. Her stage armor looked like nothing more than a dark, fitted sheath. The drunk down front shouted at those around him to shut up. In the reflected light from the stage, Zevran could also see the glow of white hair come to stand behind the loud drunk. There was a faint gleam as Fenris put his gauntleted hand on the man’s shoulder. The shadowy shape of human seemed to shrink and Fenris took his hand away.

Leliana started to sing: “I’d rather be blue thinking of you, I’d rather be blue over you.” She pointed out into the audience. “Than be happy with somebody else.” Her voice rose and fell over the crowd at turns both aching and humorous. The attention of the crowd was almost palpable as they listened, rapt. 

She strode across the stage, the spotlight following her as she sang the final chorus of the song. “Blue over you! Blue over you! I’d rather be blue over you, than hap-hap-hap happy with somebody else…”

“Lady Leliana, why won’t you see me anymore!” the drunk sobbed. His voice crashing over Leliana’s pure, sustained note.

Leliana shaded her eyes against the spotlight and stared into the crowd, frowning. A scuffle erupted down in front of the stage. A shadowy form half-rose as if he meant to climb onto the stage. There was a faint gleam of metal as Fenris pulled the man back down.

“You pushed me!” the drunk whined. He twisted away from Fenris, pulling a knife from his belt. People gasped.

Fenris unsheathed his greatsword, pointing it at the man. Silence fell. Then there was a clatter of metal against wood.

“Allow me to escort you out,” Fenris said, his low voice carrying in the quiet. 

They moved away from the stage, the crowd parting for them like a nighttime sea. Zevran exhaled and then smiled to himself. The tension in the showroom eased as Fenris disappeared from sight, though Zevran was sorry to see him go.  _ The show must go on _ , he thought and strode onstage, his long-sleeved, voluminous crimson robe swirling around him.

“After such a rude interruption, how about some extra adoration for our lovely songbird.” He waved his arm toward Leliana. The crowd burst into applause, cheering. Leliana smiled and curtseyed. Several people in the crowd rose to their feet. At last she blew the audience a kiss and glided off stage.

The spotlight shifted to Zevran and widened. “Now, my illustrious ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you feats of acrobatics and juggling in the style of Antiva!” He strode to the table that a stagehand had slid onstage while the crowd applauded Leliana. On it lay several gilded daggers and a pair of swords. 

He picked up three daggers and turned back to the crowd. Along the edge, walking back toward the stage, Zevran spotted a shock of white hair and the faint gleam of sword hilt. He held up the daggers. “For what use is living, if you are not willing to flirt with danger?”

~*~

“Fenris, wait a moment,” Leliana said.

Zevran poked his head out the dressing room. Leliana stood near the staircase at the end of the hall. Fenris had one foot on the lowest step, as he were about to mount them.  _ Hm, mounting.  _ Zevran smiled to himself at the thought.

“I just wanted to thank you for getting rid of that horrible man,” Leliana said. “He used to be one of my clients but started thinking he owned me. I told Varric I couldn’t see him anymore, but it seems he must be banned from the floor show as well.”

“It was not a problem. No person is ever the property of another,” Fenris said. He turned to go upstairs.

Leliana left, smiling at Zevran as she passed him. Zevran approached the foot of the stairs. “You  _ were  _ marvelous today. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Fenris paused on the second step. He turned and looked down at Zevran. “You saw that, did you?”

“I happened to be in the wings,” Zevran said with a shrug. He strode up to stand level with Fenris. “You really are poetry in motion, my friend.” He glanced at Fenris sidelong. The contours and angles of his light brown face were thrown into shadow by the lamp above them. His eyes glittered like green jewels. He watched Zevran, his expression inscrutable. Zevran leaned toward Fenris’s ear and whispered, “In fact, I have been thinking about nothing but you all day.”

Fenris started slightly, his gaze sharpening on Zevran’s face. Then his features flattened into a disbelieving look. “Even as you worked?” he asked, his mouth quirked in a half-smirk.

“Oh, yes.” Zevran walked up a few steps and glanced back at him. “I kept getting distracted with thoughts of what I would like to do with you. Why, I nearly cried out your name instead of the client’s. It was most embarrassing.”

Fenris snorted. His lips curving into a small, true smile. Zevran could tell it was true by the way his whole posture seemed to relax. He said, “In our line of work, forgetting the client’s name is very bad form, believe me. They don’t appreciate it.”

“And aren’t you working now?” Fenris asked. He walked up to where Zevran stood.

Zevran grinned. “Not for another thirty minutes.”

Fenris let out of thoughtful hum. “So,” he said, “what did you have in mind?”

They started up the stairs again, side by side. “Me, in your room. Watching you come apart with your cock in my mouth.” Zevran glanced sideways at him again. 

There was still a faintly amused look on Fenris’s face. If he was tantalized by the prospect, he was taking pains to downplay it.  His gaze met Zevran’s and he cleared his throat. “Oh?” he asked. 

“You are the hero of the evening!” Zevran replied. “It is only right the hero receive a reward for his trouble.”

“I didn’t know my reward would be trouble that walks and talks.”

Zevran chuckled. “Please, I am a whore  _ and _ a model citizen.” He placed a hand over his heart.

They reached the top of the stairs and started down a hall lined with doors. Fenris came to a stop outside the third one on the left. He put his hand on the handle. “Or that it would follow me home.”

Zevran braced his hands against the door, on either side of Fenris’s head. He leaned in, letting his body rest lightly against Fenris. Zevran glanced up into his eyes, shadowed and dark green in the more subdued light of the staff corridor. “I know,” he murmured, his gaze trailing down to Fenris’s mouth. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

He kissed Fenris, pressing him against the door. Fenris inhaled audibly through his nose. His free hand went to Zevran’s waist. The blunt but pointed tips of his gauntlets pricked Zevran’s skin through the thin tunic he wore. He thought of straddling Fenris, with the other man wearing nothing but those gauntlets, the cool metal tips pressing against his back and thighs and Fenris’s bare palms warm against his skin. 

Zevran ground his hips against Fenris and nipped his lower lip. Fenris made a noise that was between a growl and a groan. Zevran could feel it as well as hear it. There was a faint scritch of metal against metal as Fenris tightened his grip on the door handle. 

Footsteps approached. Fenris broke the kiss, his head turning toward the stairs. Because he was pressed so close, Zevran felt him tense, like a sleeping guard dog coming alert. Then they were falling as the door opened. 

Fenris stumbled only a few steps into the room until he caught himself. Then he caught Zevran, one arm wrapping around his waist.  _ Maker, he doesn’t look it, but he’s strong _ , Zevran thought as he straightened. Zevran was no weakling himself, had made it a point not to let himself go soft, but Fenris was... _ very _ strong. All of Zevran’s faltering arousal surged back. Fenris closed the door. Darkness engulfed them relieved only the square of moonlight coming in through the small window over the bed.

They listened as someone walked passed. Fenris turned from the door to face him. His shadowed form clad in dense black and silver armor. His lyrium tattoos and white hair almost glowed in the moonlight. Need spiked through Zevran. He wanted to be in Fenris, feeling his strong, taut body tighten and then unravel around him. Out in the hall, a door opened and then closed. 

He didn’t have time for that, unfortunately. Zevran stepped forward, his hands going to Fenris’s belt buckle. 

“You still?” Fenris said, his gaze slid toward the door. His whole body was tense, his manner wary.

“We’re alone, in your room. No one knows we’re here. No one can stop us from taking our pleasures where we will,” Zevran whispered.

Fenris hesitated, then he gripped Zevran’s chin. He crushed his mouth against  Zevran’s. As they kissed, Zevran unbuckled Fenris’s belt and unlaced his hose. He pulled them and Fenris’s underwear down. 

Zevran broke the kiss and dropped to his knees. Fenris was half-hard. His pubic hair was black, half obscuring some silvery lines of ink that trailed above and around his groin. Zevran slipped the head of Fenris’s cock gently into his mouth. One hand reaching down to cup Fenris’s sac. His other hand braced against the hard muscle of Fenris’s thigh.

Fenris exhaled a stuttering breath. His hands moved out to brace against the door and the nearby wall. Zevran could imagine the points of those gauntlets digging into the wood, just a bit. He rubbed his tongue over the head; his hand massaging Fenris’s balls.

Zevran leaned back, letting Fenris’s cock slip from between his lips. 

“Maker,” Fenris whispered.

Zevran glanced up at him. Fenris’s whole body was rigid and taut. His leg felt like steel beneath Zevran’s hand. They didn’t have time for a proper fuck tonight, that much was true. But Zevran had just enough time to wind this man even tighter, then let him come all unspooled. No one knew they were here, precisely. There would be no one to see the  _ Fleur de Vin’s _ new, enigmatic bouncer in this unguarded moment. No one but Zevran. He smiled.

He leaned forward, ducking his head so he could take one of the Fenris’s balls into this mouth. He sucked it gently, his nose buried in Fenris’s pubic hair. Zevran inhaled the scent of sweat and musk. He switched to the other ball, sucking and licking. When he finished, Fenris was fully erect and panting softly.

Zevran took Fenris’s cock into this mouth again and began, moving his head in long, sinuous strokes. His other hand wrapped around the base where his mouth couldn’t reach. 

After a minute he drew away, exposing Fenris to the air once more. He stroked Fenris hard with his hand. Down to the base, up and over the head. Zevran swirled his thumb over the slit, smearing precum over Fenris’s cock. 

Fenris shifted, leaning back on the door. “Zevran,” he murmured, over and over. “Zevran, Zevran.”

Zevran shuffled forward and slipped Fenris’s cock into this mouth again. He sucked him off hard, then slow, dragging his tongue over his skin. 

Fenris moved his left hand, reaching for Zevran, then stopping. Zevran remembered a similar aborted movement the night before and Fenris’s request “ _ I want to hold you _ ”. He took Fenris’s gauntleted wrist and placed it against the top of his head.

Fenris’s hand shifted and Zevran wondered for a moment if he had misjudged. Then Fenris cupped the back of his head, his fingers in Zevran’s hair. He did not press nor tug. He just held him as Zevran continued blowing him.

Zevran slid Fenris’s cock in as far as he could without deep-throating him. He drew back, dragging his tongue along the vein on the underside. When he reached the head he flattened his tongue over it, tightening his lips around Fenris.

“Ah!” Fenris grunted. There was a soft thunk above Zevran. He came in Zevran’s mouth. As Zevran drank his cum, he glanced up.

The back of Fenris’s head was pressed against the door, his eyes closed. His chest heaved as he gasped for air. As Zevran swallowed the last of Fenris’s cum, Fenris’s hand fell away.

He stood, licking his lips. Fenris opened his eyes and their gazes met. Faster than Zevran expected, Fenris cupped Zevran’s face in his hands. He pulled Zevran forward and kissed him. 

The kiss was a little sloppy, Fenris’s mouth a little too high at first. But he pulled Zevran in, almost on top of him. Zevran gripped his arms for balance. His body was practically draped over Fenris’s hard, armored body. His face cradled gently between two hands sheathed in pointed steel.

Fenris drew his head back a little, then kissed Zevran again. It was soft, earnest, and lingering. For a moment, Zevran almost forgot to breathe.

At last, Zevran drew away. “I must go,” he said, his voice husky and hoarse. Fenris released him and Zevran stepped back. 

He went to the door. Hand on the handle, he glanced over his shoulder. Fenris was pulling up his underwear and hose. “Goodnight, my friend,” he said. “Dream of me.” Zevran winked.

Fenris’s low chuckle followed him out into the hall. As he made his way to the stairs, Zevran thought of the feel of Fenris’s gauntleted hands on his body. 

_ Next time _ , he thought, and hurried downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I shout out to my friend michellemagly who has been beta reading this story for me despite it containing so much talk of penises. You should check out her beautiful "Lady Montilyet, Or, Good Times at the Fleur de Vin" if you haven't already. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think. Part of me still can't believe I both wrote and published something this smutty.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't know what   
> I'm to say, I'll say it anyway"
> 
> -"Take on Me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris talks a bit about his past in this one. So please bear that in mind when reading.

They didn’t have sex every day, for which Fenris was grateful. He was fit and his stamina was considerable. However, he wasn’t sure he could keep pace with his guarding duties and sex with Zevran every day. 

“How do you find the energy and time for this and your...clientele?” Fenris asked a few days after the blowjob in his room. He lay in Zevran’s bed, the boneless languor that came after sex settling into his body. Fenris adjusted one of the pillows behind him, then folded his arms behind his head. 

The semi-sheer bed curtains fluttered slightly in a faint breeze from the open window. Their beaded fringe tinkling with the motion. It was a hot, late summer night. Their only covering was a sheet. Zevran lay on his stomach beside Fenris, arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. His eyes were closed.

Fenris would have sworn he was dozing but for the fact that Zevran’s only visible eye opened as soon as he spoke. Zevran blinked, his lashes caressing his cheek. “I like sex,” he said. “And, not all of my clients come for sex. We whores are people of many talents, you know. Why, back in Antiva, in an even meaner brothel than this one, I knew a woman who read fortunes in addition to her other talents.”

“Did you pay for the pleasure?” Fenris asked, one brow raised.

Zevran chuckled. “No, I lived there, as a child. She read my future free of charge.” He grinned. “I am to enjoy a long life, it seems.”

Fenris studied him, allowing silence to fall between them. It made sense. There was an ease with the workings of the  _ Fleur De Vin _ about Zevran that none of the other whores seemed to possess. He was open but not ostentatious about his promiscuous occupation, unlike Anders who always acted as if he had something to prove. Even Lady Montilyet, for all that she seemed to understand everything about the brothel’s operations, moved through the  _ Fleur de Vin _ with cultivated deliberateness that Zevran lacked. But there was more to Zevran than just his unconventional upbringing, Fenris was certain. He said, “Good for you. Did she impart her ability to read the future onto you as well?”

“No, though that is where I learned erotic massage.” He grinned again.

“So it does lead back to sex.”

Zevran rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Not necessarily. Do you think people go to a woman like Josephine just for sex? Sex is most of what we do. But people also come to us for companionship, and to enjoy certain skills we possess.”

“What other skills do you have besides laying me like a mason?”

Zevran threw back his head, laughing so hard his whole body shook with it. His expression was filled with warm amusement as his eyes met Fenris’s. The tips of Fenris’s ears felt hot. He cleared his throat and adjusted the satin sheet covering his waist.

“Well, I’m an excellent lover, a good masseuse, and a reciter of poetry, among other things. Many ladies appreciate my poetry. Some of them come when their husbands are away. I take them up to the  _ Fleur De Vin’s  _ rooftop gardens. We sit in a concealed bower and I hold their hands and whisper heated verses to them.”

Fenris raised a brow. “People pay for that?”

“The bored and the lonely. It puts them in a position where they are desired by a person who cannot have them. They receive my adoration but dare not take it further, else it shatter the illusion of the illicit lover. An amusing game of seduction, but a rather unfulfilling one.” He touched Fenris’s hip, his thumb tracing small circles there. “Then I come relieve my tension with you."

“And women pay for that?” Fenris asked, trying to ignore the soft sensation of Zevran’s skin against his.

“And some men. Though they usually approach it a little differently. Men and women, in the upper classes here in Orlais at least, are taught to express desire differently. Women must be both desirable but aloof at the same time. Men must have their sexual needs met but also be the one dictating the terms of the encounter. And of course they must take into account the legacies and fortunes of their families and the demands of the Great Game. It is all rather silly, to my way of thinking.” He sighed and shook his head a little.

Fenris nodded. Then he said, “What kind of poetry do you know?”

“Oh, all kinds. Not as much as Leliana, but quite a lot. Would you like to hear some?”

He nodded again.

Zevran shifted closer. He began to recite in Antivan. His voice lilted with the cadence of the poem. The words seemed to roll from his mouth like drops of molten metal being poured into a mold. Fenris could not tell what the shape would be, but the effect was mesmerizing. He couldn’t take his eyes from Zevran’s face.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“A man trying to get a woman to sleep with him. He spends most of the poem describing all things he would like to do with her.” Zevran uttered a low chuckle. A thrill flashed through Fenris’s belly. “And now a question, if I may?” Zevran asked.

“As you like.”

“You’re not from the South, are you?”

“No.” Fenris’s gaze strayed to where his sword and armor were piled on the chest at the end of the bed.

“Are you from Tevinter?”

“Yes.” He met Zevran’s gaze. “I was a slave. My former master was a man named Danarius. I was his bodyguard. He...gave me these markings.” For all it felt as if he were revealing something dark and personal to Zevran, the words were tight and clipped. The conflicting desires to both explain his past and not relive it a physical, tearing ache in his chest. 

“And you aren’t one of the  _ liberatti _ ,” Zevran said.

“No. I escaped, and...Danarius is looking for me. To regain the lyrium etched into my skin, if nothing else.”

Zevran’s gaze flicked down Fenris’s body. It was as if he were reevaluating Fenris, studying him.

Fenris cleared his throat and pulled the sheet higher on his hips. He could dress and leave. But he didn’t. 

“Do not worry, my dear Fenris,” Zevran said, holding up a hand. He was smiling again. “Your secret is safe with me. We whores often become party to information people feel they can tell no one else. I would lose all my clientele if I became a gossip. You are in good company here at the  _ Fleur De Vin _ .” He winked. “Now, would you like to hear that poem in the common tongue?”

“Very well.”

Zevran shifted closer to him. His manner changing from keen and almost serious to sultry. As he listened, Fenris wondered at the practiced way Zevran went about his seduction. He clearly enjoyed it. However, the ease with which his demeanor changed made Fenris wonder if he used it to conceal secrets of his own.

~*~

Zevran liked to have sex in unconventional places, Fenris discovered. A couple days after their conversation in bed he took Fenris up to the lush rooftop garden of the  _ Fleur De Vin _ , ensconced them in a out-of-the-way bower, and sucked him off. Luckily, there was no one else up there at the time, or Fenris might have refused. He had been nervous enough as it was. Though Zevran had assured him if they were discovered Varric would not hold it against Fenris. 

“He knows this would be my idea,” Zevran said, winking up at Fenris from his kneeling position. 

After he brought Fenris to orgasm and licked him clean, they sat on a bench under a trellis. The air scented by the roses growing above them. The sounds of Val Royeaux at night were a distant bustle.

His eyes were on the stars when Fenris asked, “Why do you like to have sex in places like this?”

Zevran chuckled. “You mean public places, yes?”

Fenris glanced at him, eyebrow raised, and waited. 

“I suppose it is the thrill of hiding in plain sight, doing something generally forbidden in that space. You and your lover claiming a public space as your own, possessing it, even for a few minutes.” He shrugged and laughed. “If growing up in and working for a whore house has taught me anything, it is that sex is meant to be nothing but a pleasure. I know not everyone feels the same way. But,” he shook his head, “life is too short to spend your time worrying what others think.” 

“Not in my experience.” Fenris stared at a bed of blue flowers that had closed their blooms for the night. His breathing was hard but steady. He was trying to keep it quiet so that hopefully Zevran wouldn’t notice and guess how fast his heart raced. Cold sweat was breaking along his spine. 

Zevran shifted beside him. “Would you like to try it? Take possession of this space with me? I would be more than happy to help.”

“We already have.

“I have, with your help. But this would be your seduction of me in a public place.  _ Your  _ call, lindo,” Zevran’s tone was still light, but he sounded serious.

Fenris hesitated a moment, his mind a roil of thoughts. Bad memories hung at the back, shadows that stretched behind him no matter how far he ran. Zevran’s proposal was both intimidating and intriguing. He said, “No, I wouldn’t want to do it here.” Before Zevran could reply he rushed to add, “And I do think I could suck you off, but not- Not tonight.”

There was silence. Fenris’s mouth went dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a tad short. But don't worry, I'm just getting warmed up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe this time  
> For the first time"
> 
> -"Maybe this Time" from Cabaret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Fenris thinks about the sexual abuse in his past at the end of the chapter. And "whore" is used in the pejorative sense.

“Where would you like to go?” Zevran asked.

Fenris exhaled, then turned to meet Zevran’s gaze. He looked as handsome and debonair as always. However, there was also a keen intensity about him, as if Fenris was the only person in the world who mattered right now. It was a strange feeling. To be seen, to be listened to. 

He was so used to having things taken from him. But every time with Zevran had been a combination of give and take. Now Zevran was giving him the power to decide what to do. Fenris wanted to give in return. He turned on the bench and leaned toward Zevran. “I want to take you to your room and bring you to orgasm in my hand.”

Zevran smiled. “I like the sound of that. Let’s go.”

They went downstairs to Zevran’s room. 

“Where do you want to do this?” Zevran asked.

Fenris considered, then settled onto the wide divan, letting his body nestle into a corner. 

Zevran watched him, a bemused smile on his face and an eyebrow raised. He sat down facing Fenris, watching as Fenris unbuckled and removed his gauntlets. 

When his hands were bare, Fenris looked at Zevran. Their current position seemed off, a little awkward and impersonal. As if he were about to render services or carry out an order. Fenris hesitated a moment, then drew a leg up onto the divan. “Turn around and lean back against my chest,” he said.

Zevran’s bemused smile remained unchanged but he hesitated. His gaze darted from Fenris’s face to his chest.

“Is that all right?” Fenris asked. “Let me take the chestplate off too.” He began unhooking the straps.

Still grinning, Zevran said, “Of course.” He helped Fenris remove the armor. Then turned his back and shifted until he sat in front of Fenris, reclining back against his body. 

Fenris swallowed, then hooked his chin over Zevran’s shoulder. He slipped his arms around Zevran’s waist and unlaced his breeches. Fenris felt very aware of Zevran’s firm, warm weight resting against him. Their chests rose and fell together. Every so often, Zevran’s soft hair and ear brushed Fenris’s cheek. As Zevran’s cock came free, Fenris pressed a kiss to the spot behind Zevran’s ear.

Zevran shivered, then he chuckled, warm and low. “You seem ready to take the matter well in hand.”

Fenris huffed a soft laugh. He shifted them slightly, wrapping his free arm around Zevran’s chest, just above his waist. He encircled Zevran’s cock with his other hand and stroked him. 

Zevran grew hard and erect under his attentions. Pre-cum dribbled out of the tip and Fenris smeared it up and down the shaft. Zevran’s breathing grew heavier. He bucked his hips against Fenris’s hand. Fenris held him close and kept pumping.

“Maker’s breath, your arms are like steel!” Zevran said, clutching at Fenris’s arm wrapped around his chest.

“Are you all right?”

Zevran leaned his head back on Fenris’s shoulder. His cheeks were flushed. “I’m perfectly well. Just don’t stop!” he breathed.

Fenris quicken his pace, making sure to give Zevran’s sac a little attention too. Zevran moaned, murmuring words of encouragement in Common and Antivan. 

“Harder, mi lindo, harder,” he panted. He fidgeted and shifted against Fenris, his hips jerking. His grip on Fenris’s arm tightened. Fenris complied, caressing the big vein that ran down the length of Zevran’s cock. Squeezing the head of his cock gently as he slid his hand up. 

Zevran stiffened. Then cum shot from his cock and onto his shirt. Fenris held him close, gently stroking Zevran through the last of the orgasm. Zevran leaned his head back, eyes closed. He pressed his cheek against Fenris’s, whispering soft things in Antivan.

At last Zevran slumped in Fenris’s arms with a sigh. He nudged Fenris’s hand away from his cock and wrapped it around his chest so Fenris was hugging him from behind with both arms. A light, fluttering feeling rose in Fenris’s chest. Zevran stroked his bare arms, his fingers trailing along and in between the lyrium tattoos. 

Fenris pressed a kiss to Zevran’s earlobe, then the corner of his jaw.  _ I never knew it could be like this _ . 

~*~

In the days that followed, it seemed to Fenris that he had more sex with Zevran than he’d had his whole life. This probably wasn’t true. However, they did fuck a lot. Perhaps it was simply because he enjoyed it all.

The following week they were having a quick one in the dressing room. Fenris stood in a small alcove between two armoires, hands braced on either of them for balance. Zevran stood in front of him, holding their cocks in his hands. He pumped them, shifting against Fenris to create friction. 

The door opened. “There you are.” 

Through the haze of lust, the only thing Fenris registered was that the speaker was male. Fenris tensed, his heartbeat spiking at being caught so flat-footed. He grabbed Zevran’s shoulders.

Zevran stopped rutting and turned to glance at the newcomer. He was still sliding his hands over their cocks. “Anders, what can we do for you, my friend?”

Fenris’s erection was flagging. He gripped Zevran’s wrists and gently pulled his hands away. Zevran let go. With a sigh he turned to face Anders, adjusting his clothes and buttoning his trousers. Fenris quickly laced up his hose. His face and ears felt hot. He marveled that Zevran seemed so unperturbed. 

“Varric wanted to talk to you. He didn’t say about what,” Anders replied. He crossed his arms and shrugged. His gaze kept shifting between Zevran, the slight bulge in Zevran’s pants, and Fenris. His lips were quirked in his customary smirk of patronizing amusement. Even now, dying as he was to be away from here, Fenris itched to wipe the smirk from his face.

Zevran sighed again. “Ah well, I’m sorry my dear Fenris, but business calls.” 

Fenris glanced at him in time for Zevran to cup the back of his neck and plant a loud kiss on his lips. He barely managed to return it before Zevran let go and left. Not wanting to spend more time with Anders than necessary, Fenris buckled his belt. 

Anders said, “He must really like you, if you’re still at it.”

Fenris’s gaze snapped to his face. “How do you know?”

Anders’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Zevran told me and Isabela about it two weeks ago. I’m surprised it’s gone on this long.”

The hurt hit Fenris like a punch to the chest. Close on its heels came fury, surging up from deep inside. Fenris was used to the anger, though this was the first time in two weeks that he felt it driving him to act; run or fight. That realization was as surprising as the hurt. He turned his gaze toward the door. “What do you mean by that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Anders shrugged. “Zevran’s affairs tend to be very short-lived. You know, because of what we do.” He smirked ironically. 

“Of course,” Fenris said, his tone very curt.

“And you didn’t seem to want it before. I’m just surprised you’re still fucking.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, whore. Keep your judgements to yourself.” He spat the words before they choked him.  _ Don’t touch the merchandise when they’re working _ , Fenris remembered. He resisted the urge to punch Anders and stormed out into the hall, slamming the door shut behind him.

As Fenris strode toward the stairs, he met Donnic Hendyr coming the other way. Donnic was a guard with an open, friendly face. Whenever he saw him, Fenris thought Donnic looked like he had more business patrolling the city streets than guarding a burlesque. Nevertheless, he seemed comfortable and competent at his job. 

“There you are, Fenris,” Donnic said. “Oghren’s too hungover. Can you cover the morning?”

Fenris clenched and unclenched his jaw. He looked away. “Fine. When will Varric fire that drunk?”

Donnic shrugged. “It’s not my place. I just make sure the  _ Fleur de Vin _ stays guarded. Thanks, Fenris.” He nodded once and left. 

Fenris turned and walked back down the hallway and out into the sitting room. The room was warmly illuminated and furnished with chairs and pillows for the whores to lounge on between clients. Guards stood on either side of the wide doors where they could see everything. As Fenris entered the room, Donnic emerged from the door leading to Varric’s office and went to stand on the right side of the door. Fenris unsheathed Lethendralis and took up position on the left side. 

Usually, Fenris preferred the left side. His back was to a wall. It was near a corner and offered a view of the entire room and all it’s entrances and exits. 

Today, it meant that he got to watch Zevran chat with Lady Montilyet and Leliana. Then he laughed at something Isabela said. The room was spacious, but no larger than most grand houses Fenris had seen. Today, it seemed as if he watched Zevran live a life and enjoy an intimacy from across a continent that Fenris would never be able to cross.  _ “Zevran’s affairs tend to be very short-lived. You know, because of what we do.” _

The door opened and a nobleman in blue silk entered. Fenris’s stomach dropped. It was one of Zevran’s regulars.

A broad smile on his face, Zevran rose and crossed the room to meet the man. “Ah, lindo, it is good to see you again.” He took the blue-clad man’s hands. They kissed one another on the cheeks. 

“Indeed, Zevran, It’s been too long since last time.” the blue-clad man said. His voice dropped but they stood close enough that Fenris could still hear: “I’ve been dying to feel you inside me.” 

Zevran chuckled the low, warm laugh that never failed to send a ripple of pleasure through Fenris’s belly. But the laugh was not for him. Fenris could see Zevran’s face. For a moment, he yearned for one glance, a slight acknowledgement. 

“Come, and I’ll put you out of your misery,” Zevran replied. He took the man’s hand and led him from the room. 

Fenris watched them go, feeling sick. That man would let Zevran top him. Fuck him like a dog, in the way Danarius used to do. The thought of it made Fenris break out in a cold sweat. 

Zevran had not asked Fenris to take his cock, yet. Though, it was something Fenris had thought about more than once since the start of their affair. However, he had never quite mustered the courage to ask Zevran if it was something he wanted. Fenris did know that he would never be able to take Zevran in him as casually as this man in blue.  _ Or worse, what if I can't let Zevran in me at all? What will he do if I can't give him that? _ Fenris wondered, not for the first time. Dread came, settling in him like stones. 

Anders emerged from the hall as Zevran and his client disappeared from sight. Before Fenris could look away, Anders met his gaze. Fenris grit his teeth, hands tightening around his sword hilt. Anders raised his eyebrows slightly, then turned away to join the other unoccupied whores. 

Isabela said something to him as he sat near her. Fenris was too far away to hear. Anders smirked and leaned over to whisper a reply.   
  
Fury burned away the desperate, lonely ache in Fenris’s chest. He didn’t care if they were talking about him and Zevran or not. The visual reminder was sting enough.  _ Later,  _ he decided,  _ Zevran and I are having words. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot! There it is. Ready for the drama? And, I hope Fenris's line of thought is easy to follow there at the end. I rewrote his inner turmoil over letting Zevran top about three different times.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I maxed out your limits.  
> I pushed you too far.  
> I took you for granted.  
> I thought that you need me  
> More, more, more, more."
> 
> -"Boys Don't Cry"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains a mention of unwanted sexual touching.

Zevran was shimmying into a fitted white silk tunic when there was a firm knock on his door. He slipped the garment over his head. It bunched and twisted around his ribcage. He ignored that and reached for the dagger hidden in the back of one of the nearby armchairs. His next client wasn’t yet due. There was little reason for an unexpected visit.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Fenris.”

Zevran grinned. “My dear Fenris, come in!” He stepped away from the chair, tugging the tunic straight.

Fenris entered, wearing his armor, sword, and a scowl. 

“I’m pleased that you brought me your greatsword for polishing, Sadly, I am too busy tonight. My next client will be coming shortly.” Zevran chuckled and smoothed the front of his shirt. He put a hand on Fenris’s arm, just above the gauntlet where his skin was bare, feeling the firm muscle and the raised bands of lyrium. “I will make up for Anders’s interruption, have no fear.”

Fenris’s expression didn’t alter. He pulled his arm away from Zevran’s touch. “Why did you tell them?” Anger gave the words a hard edge.

Zevran laughed again, louder this time. “Tell who what?”

“Anders and Isabela. He said you told them the day after our first night.” Fenris crossed his arms.

Zevran shrugged, letting his hand fall to his side. “They are my friends and colleagues. I would have mentioned such a development no matter who I had bedded. Just as a matter of interest. You know,” he said, keeping his tone conversational, “there was a bet among some of us about whether your tattoos covered your whole body.”

“You slept with me for a bet?” Fenris’s voice was a snarl. He shifted on his feet and uncrossed his arms, his hands forming fists.

Zevran winced inwardly, that risk had not panned out. The forced cheer wasn’t working either. He dropped it. “No, we have been over this. I slept with you because  _ I _ wanted to. I keep sleeping with you because I like it and I thought you did too.” He crossed his arms, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“I thought you liked hiding in plain sight.”

“For sex. It is a kink I enjoy sometimes.”

“You weren’t just using it as an excuse to hide me from your clients?” Fenris spat the words. “The other whores?” 

There was a contemptuous twist to the way he said “whores”.  No matter how many times he heard that tone, it always stuck in Zevran like a burr. “ _ Whore’s son.”  _ From the beginning, Fenris had seemed exasperated and a little uncomfortable with the brothel. That had mellowed into what Zevran thought was taciturn acceptance. Apparently he was wrong.

“Because I am a whore you think I like to play games with people’s affections?” Zevran made a cutting motion with his hand. His voice turned steely. “No. I am no cheat. You knew what I was going into this. I would neither keep you like a shameful secret nor conceal that I have sex for money. All lovers must be in complete understanding. If their relationship is to work.”

“Whatever we are, it’s not lovers,” Fenris said. 

“Have I lied to you? At all?”

Fenris was silent a moment. He shifted back and forth, as if he wanted to pace. At last he spoke. His response was a growl, “No.”

Zevran shook his head slightly. “I thought we understood one another. First you say you don’t want me sharing knowledge of our affair with anyone, then you accuse me of keeping you like a secret shame for my own convenience.”

“I am a free man.” The words emerged with great effort, as If Fenris were hauling them up from deep within. “And I will not be trifled with like a plaything. Not yours or anyone else’s.” He jabbed a finger at Zevran. “And you know what he did! And you still told him.”

All the air seemed to vanish from Zevran’s lungs. He remembered. When Fenris first became a guard, they had all teased him, flirted with him, even touched him. They were small caresses, of his arms, his cheek, hands, or chest. Fenris endured it all with stony silence, firm refusals, and an immovable scowl. However, Zevran had caught curious glances and sometimes more than neutral tone the few times Fenris had responded with more than a “no”. He had known then, there was more to Fenris than a forbidding facade. 

Now, he understood why. As a former slave, Fenris had mastered the art of withdrawing long ago as a means of survival. During his time with the Dalish, Zevran had learned all elves covered their faces to get by in a shemlan-run world. The Dalish wore their tattoos in defiance. It concealed their pain with pride. But flat-ears like him and Fenris wore masks of indifference. Zevran knew it would take time and patience for Fenris to feel comfortable enough to let his slip.

Anders had not realized this. He was a provocateur. By consequence, he sometimes went too far. 

_ “You’re in Val Royeaux now, Fenris.” Anders slid his arm across Fenris’s shoulders. Fenris remained stock still, glaring at the floor. “You’re allowed to appreciate beautiful things here. We don’t mind if you look.” He leaned into Fenris’s body and Zevran could not hear what Anders whispered next. Though he saw Anders press his crotch into Fenris’s hip.  _

_ “Stop.” The word was flat and hard. Fenris pivoted, his left arm going out as if he were going to push Anders away. Instead he stepped back so there was space between them. His green eyes were wide. “Don’t touch me.” _

_ Josephine spoke, “Anders, leave him alone. Let the poor man do his job. Maker’s breath, he hasn’t even been here two weeks.” _

_ Anders shrugged as if didn’t matter to him either way, and dropped down onto a pillow next to Isabela. _

_ She poked him in the cheek. “Not everyone is too shy to admit they want to sleep with you, goose.” _

Zevran exhaled. “I am sorry, Fenris. I should have asked if you would mind Anders hearing of our affair. It had been such a brief, spontaneous thing that night, I did not think it would matter in the long run.”

The rigid line of Fenris’s shoulders eased a little. His fierce gaze lowered to the floor. “You didn’t expect it to last this long, did you?” He asked, voice low. His tone was oddly subdued. 

Zevran hesitated, feeling wary all of a sudden. Nevertheless he kept his voice light. “I did not expect anything, to be perfectly honest.”

Heavy silence fell between them. Seconds passed. At last Zevran asked, “So, what happens now? Do we go on as before?”

Fenris looked at him. His expression was bleak and a little forlorn. “Just like that?”

Dread sank into Zevran like an anchor. He smiled. “The other option is a lot less fun, in my experience.”

“What about something more?” Fenris asked. 

Zevran wanted to be angry. If he was angry then it wouldn’t feel like it was his fault. Instead the anchor of dread struck inevitability. Fenris didn’t understand what he was asking for. Guilt and regret swamped Zevran, filling his throat and chest. Dead men could not take lovers. 

In a quiet voice he said, “Alas, I cannot give you that.”

Fenris’s expression didn’t change. Without another word he turned and left. 

Zevran stared at the closed door, for a moment, unmoving. Then he hurried to his vanity and began adorning himself in jewelry. He had a job to do.

~*~

The numb feeling lasted until Fenris reached his room. The door closed behind him, and he looked at the space between the bed and the small desk. Zevran had stood right there two weeks ago. Lithe and handsome, the moonlight shining on his blond hair and his eyes hot with desire and mischief. 

Fenris shook his head and unbuckled his sword belt. It was over. He should have seen it coming. He should have known it wouldn’t last. Fenris began removing his gauntlets, dropping them on the desk beside his sheathed sword. 

“What did you expect?” he said, staring down at his marked hands. These were not the hands of a free man. He had nothing to offer someone like Zevran. A person so comfortable in his own skin, with his own place in the world. Fenris had no future, nor a past; nothing but the enmity of a magister who wanted an animal at the heel. 

He sank onto the bed and buried his face in his hands. As soon as the words “something more” left his mouth, Fenris knew it was the wrong thing to say. Zevran didn’t love him; and he didn’t love Zevran. Fenris had never known love. If he’d ever been in love before Danarius, he barely remembered it. Shudders wracked his body. 

Fenris opened his eyes, peering through his fingers at the bare furnishings of his room and his meager belongings. Distantly he could hear the  _ Fleur de Vin _ building to its usual fervor as everyone prepared for the evening ahead. Fenris breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth and the tremors eased into stillness. He had mistaken Zevran’s kindness for something else, even when Zevran had warned him not to. This ending was inevitable. It was for the best.

~*~

Avoiding Zevran was hard. As a guard and then Zevran’s bedmate, their routines had become wrapped up in one another. Fenris suspected Varric had known about their affair. He tried his best to trade guard shifts with the others where he could. Oghren was especially accommodating, eager to give up working evenings during the floor show and early mornings. Mornings were easy for Fenris. He was used to waking early before everyone else. Usually only Varric would be awake already, or one or two of the other whores if they weren’t working late. Leliana and Josephine more often than not. 

Even so, Zevran was no late riser. Fenris would see him briefly just before or after his shift ended and he went upstairs to his room. Zevran, talking and laughing with Isabela and Leliana over glasses of wine. His jokes and the warm intonations of his voice and laughter filled Fenris’s ears, even as he focused his sight on something else. Zevran, emerging from his room dressed in silks and jewelry meant to draw the eye. The black tattoo on his face in particular accentuated the contours and lines of his face, drawing attention to his golden hair and amber eyes. 

Fenris had dared to trace his fingers along those lines one of their evenings together--only a few days ago but it felt like longer now. They were only slightly raised, the texture barely indistinguishable from the rest of Zevran’s skin; so different than the scarring left by the lyrium tattoos Danarius had given him. Zevern had smiled under Fenris’s touch that night, then turned his face into Fenris’s hand and kissed his palm. 

Zevran wore a smile now, when they met in the halls. His gaze touched briefly on Fenris as they passed. Fenris would stare straight ahead. Then Zevran would gone, only the faint scent of sandalwood and roses lingering in his wake. Upstairs, Fenris crawled under his blanket to sleep, hoping that Zevran’s perfume would not follow him into the land of dreams as well. His hopes were almost always in vain.

Floor shows were worse. A two hour block of time whose passage was only marked by the comings and goings of the different acts. If Fenris was lucky, there would be some misbehaving noble to watch or a merchant with more money than sense who needed a warning. However, even on the rowdier nights, he still found his attention drawn to Zevran whenever he was on stage. His only grace was that the performance hall was dark. If he was positioned near the back, he could blend in with the shadows. Any escaped flicker of emotion would be hidden in plain sight. 

Unfortunately the hall was also hot and packed with people. Their chatter and noisy carousing during the acts, the smell of liquor and sweat, and the jostle of bodies grated on Fenris’s nerves. At times it felt like the crowd closed in on him, reminding him of those times he’d been locked in the observation cells beneath Danarius’s mansion. As days passed Fenris found himself more on edge as he approached the floor show shift. 

One evening, as he lay on his bed, drained and exhausted after his shift, Fenris thought,  _ I am free now. Why do I stay if there’s nothing to keep me here? _   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think! And, in light of the recent Tumblr adult content ban debacle, I would urge all AO3 users who enjoy my fanfic to please follow me and/or bookmark the ongoing stories you enjoy. I will be staying on Tumblr until fandom leaves or Pillowfort becomes better (you can also follow me there). But if you follow me on AO3 you'll automatically be notified whenever I update. 
> 
> I hope you are are having, safe wonderful holidays.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A long lonely time."
> 
> -"Unchained Melody"

It seemed to Zevran that Fenris all but disappeared. In the days that followed their fight he would find himself looking for Fenris. Usually either to share a smile with him over a joke, or even in moments of idle thought. His gaze would wander to the position near the door where the guards stood. However, more often than not, it was not Fenris’s eyes he met. That realization came like small slap to the cheek. His heart would sink. But, then a client would arrive, and Zevran would smile and let himself be lost in their desires.

Occasionally he would see Fenris at a distance, in the hallway or standing guard during the floor show. During those times Fenris seemed not to see him, to be unmoved. He was always scowling, not that Zevran blamed him. He liked Fenris, his dry humor, his thoughtful observations, the ferocity that hinted at a passionate heart. True to form, Zevran had wounded that heart. If Fenris hated him now, Zevran deserved it.

“Alright, I’m bad at this mushy stuff, but I have to ask, what’s wrong?” Isabela asked.

They stood backstage in the performance hall, late one morning. The heavy, red velvet  curtain was open, letting in the light from the high windows in the hall. Beyond the stage, men and women were cleaning the floors and furnishings in preparation for that night’s performance. Isabela and he were supposed to be practicing their dagger throwing act and sword dances. It was really an excuse to keep their knife work sharp.

Zevran laughed. “With a preamble like that, it makes me question your sincerity just a little, my dear Isabela.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Ha-ha.You’ve dropped your dagger twice since we've started. You’re never this sloppy. Ergo, something’s bothering you.”

Already half-bent to retrieve his dagger, Zevran paused, then snatched it up. He straightened and tossed the dagger into the air, not taking his eyes from Isabela’s. It spun end over end four times before falling. Without looking, he caught it by the hilt.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Excuse me for trying to be a good friend.”

“I thought you were a corsair.”

She jerked her thumb at her chest. “I _am_ a corsair. I’m just taking a break for now.”

“Of course,” he said, gripping the daggers carefully by their blades. He raised them. “Again?”

Isabela dropped into a crouch, her own daggers ready. They began tossing two between them, then four, then all six.

“ _Aguila_ ,” Isabela said, tossing the blade she held high in the air. Zevran mirrored her. The dazzling flash of twirling blades arced high in the air between them, the daggers almost seeming to hover before falling.

After a minute Zevran said, “A la corazón.” They slowly started tossing the blades lower until they were at chest height again. “De la curva,” he said. He spun around on his heel this time, throwing as he faced Isabela again.

She spun and threw a knife of her own. Zevran caught it just before he turned his back. Timing was key to this trick. Two blades should be in the air and two in each of their hands as they caught and threw. It was when they were out of sync, people got hurt. Zevran started sweating as they continued on to other forms. His muscles burned with the effort of maintaining the constant, measured motions.

At last they finished the final form. Isabela called the command to halt, “ _Muerte._ ”

Zevran snatched his third dagger from the air. He grabbed a nearby towel and dabbed sweat from his face. Isabela's chest heaved as she caught her breath.

“I could use a bath and a drink, how about you?” she said as they went into the wings.

“Sí, una idea bien,” Zevran said. They put away the throwing knives and went to gather dressing gowns for bathing. On their way to the baths, they stopped by the kitchen to ask for the wine.

“Sure thing,” Dagna said, looking up from the chicken she was stitching. “We've got some chilling in the cold cellar. I can have the new girl carry it down to you so it’s still cold while you're in the bath.”

“New girl?” Isabela said, her eyes lighting with interest.

“Yeah, some Dalish chit,” Sera said from where she was pummeling bread dough. “Varric brought her on. She's s’pposed to be a bit of a maid of all work.” Her tone was dismissive. After a pause she added, “She's nice enough, I guess. Bit weird.”

“It's not often the Dalish leave their clans,” Zevran said.

Sera plumped the bread dough and picked up a pan. “Yeah, well, as long as she keeps her elfy ways to herself and does as she's told, I s’ppose she'll do alright.” She set the dough in the pan and dusted the flour from her hands.

“She's a sweetie. Go on, we'll send her along,” Dagna said.

“Don’t leave us hanging,” Isabela said and winked.

On their way to the baths, Isabela said, “Want to see how easily she blushes?”

“In the steamy bathroom?” Zevran raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on his face. “How will we ever tell?”

“Oh, I'm sure we can figure something out.” She nudged him with her elbow. He nudged her back.

Down in the bathing room, Isabela tossed her sweaty clothes into a pile and slipped into the washing pool. Floated in the water, she watched as he toed off his slippers. “When are you going to get rid of those old things? They're practically falling apart.”

Zevran looked down at the slippers, lined up in front of the bench where he'd left his practice clothes. The leather was thin in places and shiny with age and use. On the left, the stitching was unraveling along the seam, exposing some of the worn fur lining. Scorch marks dotted the toe of the right from when it had been too close to a fire. Inside the fur was crushed and worn almost completely away in the shape of his soles. He said, “When they stop being comfortable. I have had those slippers a very long time. The fact that they have held up so long is testament to their fine Antivan craftsmanship.”

Isabela snorted as he joined her in the warm water. “Orleasians are wild about shoes too, you know. I'm sure you could find decent replacements. Dorian would be happy to help, if you asked him.” She started washing.

Zevran laughed. The _Fleur De Vin's_ private tailor was a brilliant and meticulous Tevene ex-patriot. _Like Fenris_ , his brain added. Except not like Fenris. Dorian was the only son of the Pavus family, one of the elites of Tevinter. He had owned slaves, never lived as one.

Isabela was eyeing him as she soaped her chest. Zevran realized he had gone quiet, absentmindedly washing the same spot on his arm. He splashed water on himself and  grinned at her. “I'm sure Dorian would not hesitate to drop them in a midden,” he replied with another laugh. “Though he would probably require a ten foot pole to do so. Here, allow me to scrub your back.”

Isabela laughed and complied. Zevran snuck in a quick grope as he finished washing her. She splashed his face and gave his nipple a pinch in revenge.

They were soaking in one of the large, hot rinsing tubs when the wine arrived. The door banged open and a slim woman with dark hair in a loose, green gown strode inside, clutching the tray close to her chest.

“Oh! There you are. Sorry, I almost got lost. These underground passageways sure are twisty, aren't they?” she said, her voice high and a little breathy. Her pale cheeks were already flushed.

Zevran exchanged a glance with Isabela. Then he rose and climbed out of the bath with nothing to cover himself. “It's no trouble,” he said. “I'll take that.”

The woman’s large eyes--green like Fenris's--went wider as she stared at him, then roved around the room as if she were not sure where to look. When Zevran went to take the tray, her grip on it was white-knuckled.

Isabela propped her elbows on the rim of the bath, her breasts resting on her folded arms. “I don't think we've met. I'm Isabela. That’s Zevran. What's your name, kitten?”

Her gaze focused on Isabela. “My name's Merrill. Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure's all mine,” Isabela said and winked.

Merrill jumped slightly making the flagon and cups rattle. Zevran was happy he was holding onto the tray.

“Oh, sorry!” Merrill said, letting go. She stepped back.

Zevran smiled. “It is no trouble at all. It was a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to the _Fleur De Vin._ ”

Merrill smiled at him, then Isabela. She covered her cheeks with her hands. “Thank you. I admit, I've been so nervous. They do things very differently here in Orlais, don't they?”

Isabela laughed. “That they do. You get used to it though.”

“I hope you're right. Well, I'll let you enjoy your wine. Don't want it getting hot.” She laughed a nervous, tinkling giggle.

Isabela's voice turned husky. “See you around, kitten.”

Merrill smiled shyly, then she hurried away. Zevran returned to the bath. Isabela took the tray from him and set it on the floor while he stepped down into the tub.

She shot him a sidelong glance as she poured the wine. “Alright, seriously, what's wrong?”

“Isabela, nothing is wrong,” Zevran said, with a small laugh and shake of his head. He reached for the cup she held.

She moved it out of his reach. “You could have melted her into a puddle if you wanted, but you hardly said a word.”

Zevran sighed. “Fenris and I broke it off, if you must know.” He reached for the cup. She let him have it. Zevran took a deep drink. The wine was cool, faintly sweet, and crisp.

“Returned to earth with a crash, I take it,” Isabela said. “You two so seemed lost in your own little world there, for a while.”

He shrugged and sat back against the rim. “You could say that. But that's how it goes, no? All good things must come to an end, as they say.” His tone was breezy but he could not quite meet her eyes. Zevran smiled down into his cup.

“Well, it was just sex.”

“Indeed. It could not be anything more.” He drank the rest of his cup. “And it allows me to better focus on the needs of our clients. Speaking of which, we should probably get going. Varric will be wondering where we are.”

“Oh...Maker's big balls,” Isabela said and downed her wine. They dried and dressed in their robes. Isabela made no comment as Zevran donned his slippers. After a brief detour to return the used dishes to the kitchen they went to the dressing room.

When they arrived in the main sitting room, Varric poked his head out of his office. “There you are. Zevran, a letter came for you.”

Zevran grinned, his eyebrows rising. “For me? This is most intriguing.”

Varric passed him a folded sheet of paper sealed with wax. “It came from a certain little resort town south of here.”

Zevran looked at the seal, his grin going wider. He knew the crest of the dolphin and crossed swords. He broke the wax and opened the letter, it was written in Antivan. It read:

_My darling Zev,_

_I hope this missive finds you in glowing health. I have been better, but we both know that that is old news!_

_Now that the void damned summer heat is finally waning, I'm making plans to return to Val Royeaux for the winter season. This letter has been sent forward with some of my people to open the townhouse and prepare it for my arrival. No return to the bejeweled bosom of Val Royeaux would be complete without seeing your face. It seems like an age since we last spoke._

_I shall arrive in Val Royeaux in seven days. If the roads permit. After a day to get settled, I shall wait upon your earliest convenience._

_Yours,_

_Lucentio_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's saaaaddd. So, have a Merrill.
> 
> Sorry this took so long to post. It's been ups and downs and a period of blah. I'm still working on this story (just cracked chapter 10!), so I'll try to post more soon. Thank you for sticking by me, and for reading and kudoing and commenting. I know this is a rarepair so most of you are diehards, because how else does one survive as a rarepair shipper? But it really means a lot to me. 
> 
> I promise the sads won't last forever and we'll eventually catch up to all the exciting developments of "Lady Montilyet Or, Good Times at the Fleur de Vin". Which you should be read, if you haven't already! It's by my friend MichelleMagly and it's a delight.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I really shouldn't stay anymore"
> 
> -"Trouble"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Canon-typical violence

Days passed, blurring into shifts of guarding, eating, and sleeping. Varric paid him at the end of the week. Fenris knew he should leave, but found he was uncertain where to go. West perhaps, into the Hissing Wastes. It was closer to Tevinter, but remote and inhospitable. Or he could move further south, up into the forests and mountains that formed Orlais's border with Fereldan. Fereldan, too, was an option. The furthest from Tevinter one could get.

Fenris lay in his bed late at night, staring at the ceiling. How far is far enough? Indecision weighed him down, heavier than the misery he’d felt since his fight with Zevran. By the time he found sleep, he still hadn't made up his mind.

He brooded through morning practice and his early guarding shift. When Donnic finally came to relieve him, it took Fenris a moment to realize someone was calling his name.

“What?” he said, tone harsher than he intended.

“Easy, broody,” Varric said, holding up his hands. “I just want a quick word.”

“Certainly,” Fenris said.

Varric jerked a thumb at Donnic, standing next to him. “Donnic's not feeling well, would you mind switching evening shifts with him? He's was supposed to escort Leliana and Isabela to a party tonight.”

Fenris glanced at Donnic. He did look paler than usual.

“I’m sure it's just something I ate,” Donnic said. “All I need’s a relatively quiet night. The ladies will be out late, you'd need to escort them to the Lion's Paw and back.”

“That all right with you, Fenris? I know it means a long day,” Varric asked.

Fenris glanced between them. Donnic was the closest thing he had to a friend among the guards. He nodded. “When do we need to leave?”

Varric tapped his chin, thinking. “The stag dinner starts at 7:00. You probably won't be back until after midnight at least.”

“Thanks, Fenris,” Donnic said with a relieved smile. He clapped Fenris on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you.”

Fenris offered him a small smile in return. “I'm happy to help.”

~*~

When they left the party, it was after two o'clock in the morning. Fenris followed a step behind Leliana and Isabela as they made their way back through the dark streets. It had rained while they were in the tavern and the paving stones glistened in the infrequent islands of lamp light.

  
Isabela slung her arm around Leliana’s shoulders, half-stumbling into her as she said, “I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head!”

  
The two of them giggled, staggering as they walked. Fenris spared them a glance, wondering if he needed to guard them against falling as well. During the stag party for Some-such the merchant’s son, the liquor flowed so freely even Fenris had been given a glass to toast the future bridegroom. Isabela and Leliana righted themselves, laughing harder. Fenris turned his attention back to their surroundings, ignoring the rest of their conversation.

  
The Lion's Paw was not in the best part of town. Luckily, due to the late hour and rainy night, the streets seemed deserted except for the three of them. However, it would take several more minutes of walking until they reached the wealthy part of Val Royeaux where guard patrols were more frequent.

  
The hairs on the back of Fenris’s neck prickled. Unease had needled him since they left the Fleur de Vin. Fenris spared the two women another glance, wishing they were less drunk and walking faster. He wished he were back in his room at the Fleur De Vin. Fenris grit his teeth and gave his head a slight shake. He wished for a lot of things. _‘Wish in one hand and see how long it takes before your master cuts it off for idling’_ , he thought.

  
They rounded a corner into a small plaza with a wide, single-tiered fountain near the opposite entrance. All the houses on either side were dark, locked up, and still shuttered tight against the earlier rain shower. Wariness bunched between his shoulder blades. Fenris loosened his sword in its sheath.

  
As they reached the middle of the plaza, figures approached from the mouth of the street near the fountain. Their footsteps echoed ahead of them, almost drowning out the burble of the water. A group of four armored men and women entered the plaza, walking with purpose in their direction. Leliana’s and Isabela’s chatter ceased. As it became clear that the armored people intended to intercept them, Isabela drew away from Leliana.

  
The men and women were armed too. They fanned out a sword’s length apart as they came within speaking distance. Leliana, Isabela, and Fenris stopped.

  
One woman put her hand on her sword hilt. “You’re in possession of stolen property, ladies. Return the slave and we'll probably let you go.”

  
Leliana and Isabela looked at one another. Fenris’s stomach clenched into a rock of fury and fear. He would get them killed. But, if he left with these slave hunters he would be worse than dead.

  
Isabela put her hands on her hips. She wore a loose silk shirt that hung artfully off one shoulder, tight black leather trousers, and brown leather boots with tops that folded up over her knees. “What in the Maker’s name are you talking about?” she asked, sounding more sober than Fenris expected.

  
Leliana wore a blue dress accented with gold embroidery and delicate blue shoes. She half-turned. “Fenris- Oh.”

  
Fenris turned. Three more hunters closed in behind them. Two had bows with arrows on the string. A noise to the left alerted him to the arrival of two more hunters in the side street. They were cut off.

  
He glanced back to see both Leliana and Isabela watching him. Leliana’s expression showed interest, but otherwise betrayed nothing. Isabela’s was speculative as if the gears in her mind were clicking away, turning over everything.

  
“I am sorry,” he said.

  
Isabela made a humming noise and tugged at the top of one of her boots.

  
“Relinquish your sword, slave,” a hunter said, thrusting out a peremptory hand. On either side the bowmen closed in.

  
Fenris slowly unsheathed his sword. The hunter gestured curtly. Fenris’s grip tightened around the hilt. “I am no one’s slave!” The words seethed out of him like fire through a grate.  
He took the sword in a two-handed grip and swung it in a wide arc. One bowman lost a hand, his bow cut clean in two. The sword cut a sparking line across the third slave hunter’s mail, though Fenris managed to open a small gash on his leg.

  
The second bowman shot. The arrow plunked hard against Fenris’s breastplate. Teeth bared, he brought the sword up and rushed the hunters with a roar that echoed through the plaza. The second bowman darted away to his left.

  
The hunter who had demanded his weapon managed to unsheathe a longsword. He raised hasty blocks against Fenris’s punishing blows. Fenris did his best to keep the hunter's body between him and the archers in the side street. He found an opening and lopped off the man’s head.

  
Fenris turned to see two slave hunters bearing down on him with swords and shields. Beyond them was a surprise. Isabela, wielding two daggers, danced in and out of reach of the leader’s sword. Her precise thrusts and quick cuts yielded yelps of pain and sprays of blood. There was no sign of Leliana.

  
Pain lanced through Fenris’s thigh. An arrow was buried in the side of his leg. He bit back a curse and barely managed to bring his sword up in time to parry one hunter’s thrust. The other hunter pressed forward, slamming her shield into Fenris’s side. He stumbled backward two steps. She raised her sword, then dropped it. An arrow pierced her throat. Blood dribbled from her mouth as she let out a gurgle before collapsing to the ground. Both Fenris and his opponent stared at her, then for the source of the shot.

  
Leliana stood on the opposite side of the plaza. The bowman who had run from Fenris’s initial attack lay at her feet. She took another arrow from the quiver slung over one arm, drew back the string in one fluid motion, and shot without hesitation.

  
The man beside Fenris attempted to dodge. The arrow struck his shoulder instead of his neck. Fenris cleaved Lethendralis through his collarbone and into his chest. He fell.

  
Panting, Fenris turned to the hunters advancing from the side street. All at once this did not seem so hopeless, but he was not safe yet. One stumbled, an arrow appearing in the joint between the armor on his knee and thigh. Fenris rushed him. The hunter retreated, bring his shield up. A heavy blow cut through the sturdy wood. Lethendralis became wedged between two slats.

  
The hunter tugged but Fenris held fast. He wrenched the remnants of the shield from the hunter’s arm. A figure moved toward him from his left, Fenris swung and caught a female hunter. The remnants of the shield broke apart as they struck her. She staggered. The injured hunter started limping away. A second arrow struck him in the back and he fell. Fenris parried the female hunter’s hasty chop at his midsection and stabbed her. She grunted as his sword pierced her chest and fell to her knees. He turned.

  
Leliana stood behind him, near the mouth of the side street, her bow trained on the hunter who tried to flee. Behind her, some of the bodies of the slave hunters lay on the ground, their blood pooling dark and wet on the cobblestones. He could not see Isabela.

  
One of the bodies shifted and rose. The man whose bow Leliana had stolen. He rushed her, knife in hand.

  
“Behind!” Fenris said, surging forward. Leliana spun. He already knew, however, neither of them would be fast enough.

  
Silver flashed through dimly lit plaza. The man stumbled and fell to his hands and knees as the dagger pommel struck his head and dropped to the ground. Isabela walked into view, holding her other dagger. Her hair was in disarray and one sleeve had been ripped from her shirt. Otherwise she looked unharmed.

  
“Sorry about that,” she said to Leliana, as if she had bumped her in the hall. “I meant to kill him.” Isabela grabbed the man’s hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat.

  
“Wait,” Fenris said. Isabela paused, her blade hovering by the man’s neck. Fenris limped up to them, and sheathed his sword.

  
The man’s eyes focused on him as Fenris crouched to be on eye level. “Who sent you?” Fenris asked.

  
“Please let me go. It’s nothing personal. Please don’t let her k-kill me,” the man said. His voice high and reedy from fear.

  
“Tell me what I want to know,” Fenris said, speaking in Tevene this time.

  
“We were hired to reclaim Magister Danarius’s stolen property,” the man replied in the same language.

  
Cold fear lodged in Fenris’s chest, freezing his throat for a moment. He forced himself to ask the next question. “Is Danarius in the city?”

  
“No! I don’t know. When we left him he was attending to the Archon. He wanted us to bring you back to Tevinter.”

  
“Can you tell what they’re saying?” Isabela asked Leliana.

  
“A bit. Tevene is not my best language,” Leliana replied.

  
Fenris asked the man, “How did you find me?”

  
“We t-tracked you through K-Kirkwall. A dwarf told us he’d seen an elf with white markings.”

  
Fenris’s scowl deepened. He had paid that dwarf most of his coin to secure passage to Orlais. “Does anyone else know I’m here? Did you tell Danarius?”

  
“No, no, no! It’s just us. I-I think? Our leader wrote to him in Kirkwall, but we hadn’t confirmed our lead with the dwarf yet. He probably doesn’t know. Orlais is a big place!” The man’s eyes were bulging, darting back and forth across Fenris’s face. “That’s all I know. Will you let me go?”

  
“No.”

  
“But I told you everything! You promised-”

  
Fenris leaned in until he was close enough to smell the man’s bad breath. “I don’t owe you anything, slaver scum.” He gripped the sides of the man’s head and twisted, pulling him out of Isabela’s grasp. The slave hunter’s neck broke with a dull pop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry this took so long to be posted. I was working on a future chapter and it's been really rough. But a friend helped me work through it so hopefully the fic will be full steam ahead again here soon.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah! Thanks for reading, and thank you to Michelle Magly for letting me into your fun AU. Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! 
> 
> Also I have a killer playlist over on spotify if you want some more feelings: https://open.spotify.com/user/0drnmdhmzm66ygg3b4hxlgeql/playlist/7LbsHN0hPsmdeSPJjmUDQA?si=tYRw6qreR-OXx_uLbj_6Jg
> 
> More to come!


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